


see the veins of my city like they do in space

by lecornergirl



Series: wish fulfilment [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Basically Just Smut, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Public Sex, but like grad students bc grad students have offices, semipublic anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 08:50:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21425482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lecornergirl/pseuds/lecornergirl
Summary: Clarke lets it sit for almost a week before she brings it up again.“So, we did my wall thing,” she says casually. “Surely there’s something you want to try?”Bellamy looks up from his grading. “I was thinking about it. I’ve always liked the idea of public sex, but I’ve never gotten around to trying it.”technically this is a sequel to roll the dice but also like it's pure smut, the sequencing doesn't really matter
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: wish fulfilment [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1544569
Comments: 1
Kudos: 140
Collections: Bellarke smut





	see the veins of my city like they do in space

**Author's Note:**

> title from tennis courts by lorde

Clarke lets it sit for almost a week before she brings it up again.

“So, we did my wall thing,” she says casually. “Surely there’s something you want to try?”

Bellamy looks up from his grading. “I was thinking about it. I’ve always liked the idea of public sex, but I’ve never gotten around to trying it.”

“Public, like in front of other people?”

“Not necessarily directly in front of other people,” Bellamy amends, “but somewhere people could theoretically come in at any point.”

“Like the library?” Clarke asks, and Bellamy laughs.

“Okay, technically, yes, the library is an excellent example, but have you heard yourself? We’d get caught in the library in two seconds flat, and I can’t get kicked out of the library. I need it for research.”

“I’m not _that_ loud,” Clarke protests, “not always, at least.”

Bellamy levels her with a pointed look. “You are when I’m doing my job right.”

“I feel like it’s better for me if I don’t argue that,” Clarke says, and Bellamy has the audacity to wink.

“So, not the library,” she muses. “What about your office on campus? It’s high up enough that if it was dark outside and we didn’t have lights on, I don’t think anyone could see in through the window, but we could see out of it. Would that work?”

“Honestly, that sounds perfect,” Bellamy says. “Hey, I’m doing a guest lecture tomorrow night, want to meet me after?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Clarke says with a wink of her own.

The plan is for Clarke to meet Bellamy in his office after his lecture, but she gets a little impatient. It’s easy enough to find out where the lecture is, so she slips in a few minutes after it starts and finds a seat in the back. Bellamy’s busy introducing himself and what he’s going to talk about, and he doesn’t look up at the sound of the door.

Clarke takes a seat on the aisle, one that sticks out strangely on the edge of the row with no other seats in front of it. She settles in, crossing her legs at the ankles and letting her knees fall apart a little. She just so happens to be wearing a skirt, and maybe, just maybe, she isn’t wearing any underwear.

Clarke can tell the exact moment Bellamy spots her, because he stumbles on his words and falters for a second. Then he clears his throat, finds his sentence again, and very pointedly does not look in her direction again for the rest of the lecture.

There’s polite applause when he finishes speaking, and a couple of students make their way down to the lectern to ask him some questions. Clarke approaches slowly, and Bellamy still doesn’t look at her, until a student mentions that a group of them are heading to a nearby bar and invites Bellamy to join them. “Thanks, but I’ve got, uh, plans,” Bellamy says, glancing up at Clarke.

The student follows his gaze and smirks. “Have a good night, Mr. Blake.”

“Good lecture, prof,” Clarke says as the last students let the door swing shut. 

“Clarke,” Bellamy says, “you are also in grad school, you know I’m not a professor.”

“Sounds good, though, doesn’t it?”

“God, yes,” Bellamy sighs, grabbing Clarke’s hips and lifting her until she’s sitting on the lectern. She hooks her fingers in his belt loops, pulling him closer and wrapping her legs around his hips.

“I think I’ve had this dream,” Bellamy says, and leans down to kiss her. He has one hand in her hair, the other running up her thigh and under her skirt. 

“Screw your office,” Clarke says when they break apart, breathing heavily. “Why not just stay right here?”

Bellamy checks his watch and groans. “We can’t, custodial staff are coming in to close up the lecture hall in just a few minutes.”

“Okay, your office it is.”

Bellamy gathers up his belongings, and they head out of the lecture hall. On their way out of the door, they run into a member of the custodial staff, pushing a cleaning cart and bopping to something playing on his headphones.

“Yeah, good call,” Clarke says.

They make their way across the lobby, checking to see if anyone else is in the building. It’s almost 9PM, so it’s unlikely, but academics are a strange sort.

“So, how do you feel about elevators?” Bellamy asks, right before the elevator doors open with a ding. 

“Wh—” Clarke starts, but as soon as the elevator doors close he pushes her against the wall, cutting off her words with a kiss. It’s wet and dirty, and in the space of the brief elevator ride he manages to pull her shirt out from the waistband of her skirt and slip a warm hand on the bare skin of her back.

The doors ding again when they open on his floor, Bellamy straightens up, and Clarke blinks. “I feel pretty good about elevators.”

He leads the way to his office. Clarke has been here a couple of times before, but always in daytime, with the lights on and the offices full of people. It looks different at night, with only the emergency lighting on. It’s almost eerie, if eerie had more positive connotations and less imminent death ones. 

Bellamy’s office isn’t technically just his, he shares it with another grad student, but the other student is married and has a kid and isn’t likely to still be in the office at nine o’clock on a Wednesday night. He lets her in and closes the door behind them, but doesn’t lock it.

A shiver runs down Clarke’s back. Sure, this was Bellamy’s idea, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t also extremely into it.

An assortment of papers and notebooks is spread across Bellamy’s desk, and Clarke carefully gathers them and puts the pile on the bookshelf lining one wall. In a movie she would just sweep them to the side, but she’s well aware of the realities of research. There’s no point making lifeunnecessarily harder for the Bellamy of tomorrow.

She perches on the edge of the desk, crossing her ankles and leaning back on her hands. Bellamy stares at her, swallowing.

“Hey,” he says, voice a little strained. “What if I have another thing?”

“Yeah?” Clarke asks.

“I want to see you touch yourself.” 

Heat pools in Clarke’s stomach. She hops fully onto the desk and pulls her shirt off over her head, watching Bellamy the whole time. She reaches back to unhook her bra, letting it fall off slowly. Her hands come up to palm her breasts, and she starts toying with her nipples.

“Like this?” Clarke asks, and Bellamy nods, like speaking would be too much effort.

Clarke lifts her legs and plants her feet on the desk, a little wider than the set of her hips. Her skirt falls up to pool around her waist. “Take off your shirt,” she tells Bellamy.

“Why?” he asks, even as he’s complying. 

“Balance,” Clarke says, still playing with her breasts. She isn’t wearing underwear under her skirt, and with her legs spread she’s completely exposed. It feels strange but in a good way, a way that makes her acutely aware of how much she needs to be touched there. She leans back on one hand and brings the other between her legs, stroking her entrance slowly.

Clarke starts to rub small circles on her clit, and Bellamy’s eyes are glued to her hand. 

“I want to see you make yourself come,” Bellamy says, the depth of his voice sending little shocks to her core. “Can you do that for me?”

Clark rubs a little faster and involuntary noises start tumbling from her lips, gasps and moans and half-articulated swears. Maybe Bellamy had a point about the library.

“That’s it,” Bellamy encourages. “Good girl.” 

“Oh, fuck,” Clarke moans, discovering in that moment that apparently she has a praise kink, who knew. She plunges two fingers inside herself and pushes the heel of her hand against her clit.

The combination makes her come almost instantly and suddenly Bellamy is there, swallowing her moans. “That was so good,” he whispers in her ear and yes, she definitely has a praise kink. That’s absolutely something to explore further later. 

Bellamy helps her get down off the desk and turns her around to face the desk, kissing the spot where her neck meets her shoulder. Clarke hears him unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans, hears the muffled clatter as his pants hit the floor, the crinkling of a condom wrapper. She leans forward, leaning her elbows on the table in anticipation. Her skirt is still bunched around her waist like a useless belt. 

He runs a finger between her legs. “Still so wet, Princess,” he says. He hasn’t called her Princess since a few weeks after they met, but it’s working right now. 

Bellamy lines himself up and thrusts, sliding in as far as he can in one movement. He leans forward, resting his chin on Clarke’s shoulder, and for a moment they stay there, looking out of the window at the city lights below. 

Then Clarke bucks her hips against his and he starts moving again, short, sharp thrusts that have her crying out. He rests his weight on one hand and squeezes her breast with the other, his calloused hand a completely different feeling than her own hand earlier. 

Bellamy moves his hands back to her hips. Clarke leans down until she’s lying on the desk, ass in the air, resting her head on her arms. Bellamy starts moving faster, tugging at her hips to bring her closer to him. “Perfect,” he murmurs, and Clarke swears.

She’s been hovering close to the edge since her first orgasm of the night, tension ramped up by the excitement of the unfamiliar environment and the new, more controlling side of Bellamy. He reaches around to stroke her clit, rolling one of her nipples between the fingers of his other hand, and her climax washes over her in big, sweeping waves. 

Bellamy thrusts a few more times and then she feels him tense up, hears his low moan as he comes. He drapes his body over hers and they lay there, panting, until Bellamy laughs. “Turns out I’m not actually this flexible,” he says, and gets up again. 

Clarke stays on the desk for a moment, regaining feeling in limbs that have turned to jello and listening to the sounds of Bellamy disposing of the condom and getting dressed again. Finally, she pushes herself up, smoothing her skirt back down and locating her shirt. 

“Well, I think we both learned something about ourselves tonight,” Clarke says, pulling the shirt on.

“Don’t think we’re not coming back to this,” Bellamy chuckles.

“I would expect nothing less.”

“Good girl,” Bellamy smirks, and Clarke shivers.

She finds the jacket she’d abandoned on a chair when they first came in, stuffs her bra in the pocket, and puts the jacket on. They head out, checking for other people in other offices out of habit, but there’s no one else on the floor.

“Hey,” Clarke says when they’re in the elevator, and struggles not to laugh. “Good luck getting anything done in that office tomorrow.”

Bellamy groans.


End file.
